Eagle eyes

No other option for my blip today -- I'm not likely to get so close to a short-toed snake eagle (Circaète Jean-le-Blanc) again! We finally managed to make it to the museum of Pyrenean flora and fauna in Aínsa, having been distracted several times by other activities. It was more interesting than I expected; it's run by a charity set up to protect the endangered species of quebrantahuesos (bearded vultures). These magnificent birds are only present in any numbers in the Pyrenees, although a century ago they were quite widespread throughout Spain and other mountainous regions in Europe. They are the only carrion birds that actually eat bones; the Spanish name means "bone-breakers", because they pick up the bones of dead animals and drop them on rocks to crack them. The foundation monitors them using technology such as RFID tags, and has even given names to each individual of the 140 or so present in the Pyrenees: Pepe, Quique, Penelope ...

As well as the static displays and a video, the girl behind the counter gave us and another couple of people a talk about the work of the foundation and then explained that the museum had an aviary where they kept a few birds that had been injured and were unable to return to the wild. No quebrantahuesos (which are huge, a wingspan of 2.5 metres!), but some owls, buzzards and these snake eagles. From a passage under the aviary we were able to observe them through glass. As we left via the museum shop, I attempted to persuade S that he would like a present of a fluffy toy bearded vulture, but he wasn't having it; I was a bit disappointed.

We stopped off for a light lunch of gazpacho and pan con tomate. Then it was just so hot that we returned to the campsite and flaked out by -- and in -- the pool; it was lovely. We'd already decided that for once we'd actually use the cooking equipment we'd brought, so we envisaged a relaxing evening under the stars eating a simple dish of pasta and tomatoes. As we cooked, the sky clouded over, and just as the pasta was ready the first drops of rain fell. We retreated into the tent and ate hunched over our plates as the wind howled and the rain lashed at the tent. The tent was on a very slight slope, and at one point what seemed to be all the run-off from the rest of the campsite poured under the edge of the tent and over the top of our groundsheet. Cue much yelling and swift rescue of various perishable items. The words "I hate camping!" may have been uttered. Still, it could have been worse; we kept the bedding dry, and the storm was short-lived. The tent was in total chaos though, as we'd hurled everything in a pile wherever we thought it would stay dry.